


the color of a furious harvest

by ohmcgee



Category: DCU (Comics), Green Arrow (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Nude Modeling, Paint Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8630107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: Paint me like one of your french girls au





	

"Wait," Connor says, following behind Kyle as he walks off to the next exhibit. They were just supposed to hang out tonight, but Kyle overheard some college students talking about an art show on campus at the diner they were eating at and well, here they are. The last painting they looked at was a full nude of a woman that made Connor blush all the way down to his toes. "You mean. Without _any_ clothes on?"

Kyle turns and gives him a funny look, quirks his mouth to the side. "That's kinda what nude implies, Connor."

"Oh," Connor blushes. "Right. But -- it’s not weird?"

"I'm an artist," Kyle says matter-of-factly. "When I'm painting -- when I'm in that zone? All I'm thinking about is shadows and lines.”

“But I _know_ you,” Connor says. “You’re… _you_ know. You love women.”

“That’s very true,” Kyle grins. “But come on, it’s no different than a doctor. It’s just basic anatomy. There’s nothing remotely sexual about it. Ugh, that reminds me. The girl I was going to paint Thursday had to cancel.”

“Why were you going to paint her?” Connor asks as they move down the hall to the next exhibit. 

“I’m taking a class at the college to hone my texturing and shading and I’ve got a project due next week.” Kyle sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “Christ, now I don’t know if I’m going to find anyone else in time.”

“I’ll do it,” Connor blurts out, to his own surprise as much as Kyle’s. 

"You,” Kyle says, tilting his head at Connor. ”You want me to paint you?”

“I mean,” Connor says, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat. “I just thought. You’re my friend. You said it wasn’t sexual and I just thought I could help, but --”

“Okay,” Kyle says, grinning at him, then he throws his arm around Connor and leads them to another room. “C’mon. I smell free champagne.” 

 

: : :

 

Kyle honestly expected Connor to chicken out, but he shows up on Thursday night just like he promised he would. Kyle says hi and offers him a beer, and Connor refuses, like always. Then Kyle shows him the room they’re going to be working in and hands him a robe so they can get started. 

Kyle’s setting up his supplies when Connor comes out of the bathroom and when he asks what positions they’re going to start in as he’s untying his robe, Kyle trips over a few syllables when he tells him. 

There’s a certain confidence to Connor as he begins to undress in front of him. As shy as Connor is about certain things, it’s obvious that his body isn’t one of them. And there’s no reason why he should be. Connor treats his body like a temple. He spends hours training and doing yoga and tai-chi, keeping himself in top condition. Even his scars are something to be proud of. 

“Kyle?” Connor asks, yanking Kyle out of his thoughts, and Kyle clears his throat and reaches for his pencil. 

“Yeah,” he says, glancing at Connor across the room on the sofa. “Let’s start with that one.”

 

: : :

 

For the first half hour Kyle just does a rough sketch outline. His pencil swoops and dips across the canvas, almost without having to take his eyes off of Connor’s body. He catches the sharp definition of Connor’s cheekbones, the broadness of his shoulders, the thickness of each muscular thigh. Connor’s dick isn’t entirely soft, which makes the back of Kyle’s neck burn as he sketches it, then he quickly moves on to the rest of his body. 

They talk every now and then, when Kyle isn’t completely in his own head. Kyle makes sure it’s warm enough for him, lets Connor take a break to stretch every now and then, and when Kyle tells him he’s done with his face, Connor talks to him about Roy and Lian, about the new arrows he designed. 

It isn’t until he starts painting that Kyle begins to lose his focus. He looks at over at Connor’s body to decide what colors to use and loses his train of thought by the time he turns to his color palette, then laughs at himself for being such an idiot. 

“What?” Connor asks, trying not to move. 

“Nothing,” Kyle mutters, dipping his brush into a blob of golden beige. “You’re just ridiculous.”

“Am I doing something wrong?” Connor asks, forehead wrinkling, and Kyle just shakes his head. 

“No,” Kyle says, dragging his brush over the canvas, filling in an area on Connor’s arm. “Unless you consider being fucking perfect wrong. In that case, yes.”

He looks up just in time to see hues of bright pink and deep red burst on Connor’s cheeks. God, he wants to see that color all over him. 

“I mean,” Kyle says, looking back down at the canvas and cleaning up a line as he talks to him. “You’ve seen yourself, right?”

He looks back up and over at Connor, lying out on Kyle’s couch with his right knee pulled up, looking like an actual fucking Greek god right here in his living room, and has to swallow a sudden lump in his throat. He only manages to tear his eyes way long enough to mix up another color to shade the lines on Connor’s torso. 

“Ridiculous,” Kyle mutters under his breath as he paints. “Your body is flawless.”

This time Connor’s blush spreads down his neck and Kyle’s hands _itch._

“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Connor mutters. 

Kyle just shakes his head as he reaches over to dip his brush in more point, pausing halfway there. “Christ, Connor,” he says, licking his lips as he steals another glance at Connor’s body, raking his eyes over every inch of him. “I even want to paint your scars.”

“Oh,” Connor murmurs and Kyle feels himself getting to his feet, like his body has completely bypassed his brain and has made the decision on it’s own to crawl across the floor, paintbrush still in hand, to where Connor is lying on the sofa. 

“You’re so,” Kyle whispers, taking in the hard lines and smooth muscles of Connor’s body, the texture of hair and skin and scars. “Can I --” He asks, looking up at Connor tentatively, waiting to see him nod before he splays his hand out over Connor’s ribs. He feels Connor take a shuddery breath, feels the warmth of his skin beneath his palm, bites his lip when his thumb brushes over the scar on Connor’s stomach. “Connor…”

“Okay,” Connor breathes out, like he knows the question hidden on Kyle’s tongue, and Kyle lets out a shaky breath and brings his other hand up, drawing his brush over the long, jagged scar on Connor’s abdomen. He hears Connor’s breath hitch, sees the muscles in his stomach quiver and catches the twitch of his cock against his thigh, but Kyle can’t be distracted now. 

He pulls the palette of paints closer to him and mixes up a silvery grey to paint Connor’s scars with -- the one on his hip, the one over his heart, the three on his arms, the v-shaped one on his throat. He gets lost in the art as the paint melts into Connor’s skin, mixes up the pinkish-orange-red color that Connor turned earlier when he blushed and grabs a larger brush, straddles Connor’s legs and swirls the paint around Connor’s chest and up on his throat in curlicues. 

He mixes his eyes next -- the color of the ocean in postcards and blue like sapphires, grabs a small, thin brush and flicks it out over Connor’s skin until Connor reaches out and grabs his wrist, then yanks Kyle down on top of him and crashes their mouths together. 

Connor unbuttons Kyle’s shirt for him as Kyle drops his paintbrush to the ground and licks into his mouth, burying his paint-sticky fingers in Connor’s hair and deepening the kiss when Connor gets his hands around his waist and rolls his hips. 

Kyle gasps into Connor’s mouth when he feels how hard he is, how he wants to feel _all_ of him, and starts shoving at his own pants, refusing to stop kissing Connor as he helps him out of them. When Kyle finally kicks them off and Connor brings their bodies back together, skin to hot, painted skin, they gasp out each other’s name. 

Coral mixes with turquoise as Connor grips Kyle’s ass and they move together, biting and suck at each other’s mouths, pouring moans into each other. Silver bleeds into beige as Kyle grinds against Connor, pink and green smear across his cheek as he leans in and breathes into Connor’s neck. When Connor comes he leaves orange-blue-grey handprints on Kyle’s back, fingers digging into the meat of Kyle’s shoulders as he shouts, and Kyle follows him seconds later, leaving muddled fingerprints all over Connor’s face when he kisses him and presses their foreheads together. 

“I thought it wasn’t sexual,” Connor says, smiling crookedly when Kyle finally pulls back and looks at him. 

“It’s not,” Kyle says, reaching out to drag his thumb over a streak of paint on Connor’s cheekbone. “I guess you’re just the exception.”

“Oh,” Connor blushes softly and Kyle just shakes his head and kisses him, sweet, but with a reluctance to let go. 

“Come on,” he says, grinning. “Help me clean this place up.”


End file.
